The Profanatica Experience (Working with Paul Ledney)

Another trip in the books.

What’s it like working with a black metal legend such as Paul Ledney? It’s just like any other endeavor, I suppose.

This was my first time Connecticut. The snow crusted valleys and mountains of New England are absolutely breathtaking. I’d never been here, and naturally, my wanderlust was piqued. The landscapes range from dense forest to abundant farmland. Like my home, you could say it’s similar. I get to the airport and Paul picks me up. He has white hair, a long beard, and a typical Eastern seaboard accent. His eyes are blue as ice and his quick glances insinuate he’s nervous. Truth is, we both were.

We make conversation and spill gossip over the fuckery of South Florida’s most conspicuous characters. Unfortunately, he and I both know some people who are nothing but trouble and have caused us nothing but trouble. As he’s talking, my eyes spot a very archaic, but robust Hartford. The bare trees line the mountains surrounding the city, and its metropolitan appearance is quintessentially “English”. When I came here, I had no misconceptions of this place. I approached it with an open mind. However, after driving through Danbury and the suburban outskirts…it was very apparent that I was in New England.

Paul’s robust sense of humor and shy demeanor was enjoyable to listen to. He told stories of past, present and the future of what he wanted Profanatica to be. He spoke of his wife, Meredith, his three sons, and enjoyed every minute of what he did. The passion in Paul is so powerful that it fills a room. I’ve never spoken to someone who still is so hungry to create pure, evil black metal. He explained his stance on Norwegian black metal, and I was happy to indulge in my stories of Inferno…some of which he was very eager to listen.

He bought me coffee and we ate lunch at a Greek diner nestled in a quaint town. The people are quiet, reserved, and not as outgoing as my southern kin, but nonetheless nice. It had been a hot minute since I last noshed on a Reuben, and the Reuben was killer. There’s something so nostalgic about a good sandwich.

After a late lunch, he dropped me off at the hotel, where I immediately went upstairs to do a test run of his look. Since I’m on my period, I didn’t really feel the necessity to break into my stash (aka the jar of blood I brought). I pulled my tampon out, squeezed it onto my face, and got a great seal of approval. Once I washed my makeup off, I anxiously laid in bed awaiting the next day.